


Domicile

by inelegantprose



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Hair, Just something short, Paperwork, Post-RotJ
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:14:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26367760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inelegantprose/pseuds/inelegantprose
Summary: As the war wanes, Leia considers what peacetime means.
Relationships: Amilyn Holdo & Leia Organa, Leia Organa/Han Solo
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	Domicile

**Author's Note:**

> Just a short piece I shared on my Tumblr that I thought I'd post here as well. It was originally intended as part of something longer, but I've been told it works as a one-off.

_Paperwork._ If you’d asked Leia Organa how she imagined herself spending the waning days of war, should she be so lucky to see them, _paperwork_ would not have been her answer. The term’s archaism – _paper? Like from trees?_ – was a testament to the task’s tediousness.

Also, it was leading her dangerously close to identity crisis territory. But really, mostly she just found it boring, that was the main issue. Boring and _weird_ , out of place. Nothing to do with the questions the forms were asking her. No, really.

The forms were for her new identification credentials. Their embryonic government had recently adopted some legitimizing bureaucratic measures, and everyone having _papers_ was a part of that, said papers being a step towards normalcy, lawfulness, order. Red tape, Leia thought privately, red tape and theatre, a waste of time and energy that could go towards actual _liberation_ , but, well, that hadn’t been her decision. Anyway, she’d need ID eventually. It made sense.

Her old identification materials were long gone. Any documents referencing “Alderaan” had been purged from the Empire’s records, declared falsified or invalid. There was no Alderaan, so any birth certificate or marriage license referencing it was illegitimate. It was the logic under which any surviving off-world Alderaanians had been detained in labor camps until just a few months ago. It was the logic of Empire, of bureaucracy – even of well-meaning New Republic forms that only accepted “Alderaan” as one’s “Planet of Origin” if one’s birth was before that awful date. _Paperwork has politics_ , Leia thought, frowning at her datapad. 

Plus, what did “Planet of Origin” really mean? In one of the form’s available languages, the field translated more closely to “Planet of Birth.” Setting aside the obvious issues there – not everyone was born on a planet, there were plenty of populated moons not to mention space stations and starships where babies were born; plus, _birth_ as a discrete moment was so human-centric – what would that mean for an off-world adoptee? The only other slot for a planet’s name was under “Planet of Residence.” If she went by _birth_ , Alderaan would be entirely absent from her forms. Which… shouldn’t be possible, from a legal standpoint _and_ an emotional one.

Also, she didn’t know where she’d been born. So, there was that.

 _This is stupid. You’re overthinking_ , Leia chided herself. She listed “Alderaan” as her planet of origin. The ancient hanging light in the room fritzed a bit, and she hit it idly until it came back on. They’d recently retaken this planet, and using the half-bombed-out Imperial offices as a makeshift headquarters was supposed to be a symbol of that. Out with the old, in with the new. They were still having issues with the electric, though. At least it didn’t still smell like smoke.

Okay, but then a new problem presented itself: “Planet of Residence.” Which – impossible. Just – impossible. She didn’t _live_ anywhere, she didn’t have a “domicile”as the form helpfully clarified. None of them did. That was the thing, there was a war, did the person who made this form not realize that? Leia simultaneously wanted to tear into the form-maker for not taking enough time in making the form, and also tear into the form-maker for spending _too much_ time on something as _inane_ as form-making. _Planet of Residence._ How long had it been since she had _resided_ anywhere? Annoyed, she selected “Other” and wrote in her own clarification: _N/A – not applicable._

Suddenly, a knock on the door. Leia startled, momentarily confused. That took some getting used to – the oaky, hollow sound of old fashioned planet-side doors, none of the metallic _clang_ she’d grown used to. She checked her chrono – right on time. “Come in,” she called, sweeping her long hair back into a low ponytail as the door opened and two women entered. The morning’s pins had already been neatly extricated.

An unfamiliar face was followed by a familiar one. “I can’t get over these doors,” said Leia’s old friend Amilyn, theatrically pressing her nose to it and making a show of inhaling. “So rustic.”

“Yeah, the blaster bolt scorch marks really give it a vintage look,” Amilyn’s companion deadpanned. She was carrying a large bag, and placed it on Leia’ desk.

Leia stood up and the old friends grasped each other’s hands. “It’s good to see you,” said Leia.

“I can’t believe we overlap,” Amilyn enthused, “even if it’s just for a day.”

“You’re sure this is how you want to spend it?” Amilyn’s companion asked, eyebrows high. She had removed a pair of scissors from her case and snipped at the air once, as if for emphasis. Leia decided she liked her.

“Well, not all of it. I’d like to hear how you are, for example,” Leia said, nodding to Amilyn.

“Oh, I’m fine. And you? You’re fine? This isn’t a cry for help?”

Leia gave her friend A Look. _Cry for help? Really? When have you known me to cry for help?_

“Okay, well if it’s _not_ a cry for help, you’re sure I can’t convince you to go with a new color?” Here Amilyn fluffed her own brightly-colored locks – an electric green. “Nik has been doing mine since I enlisted. She’s amazing.”

“I’m certain, but thanks.”

“Hush. I can tell what she wants – just simple, classic,” Nik said. “Here, can you sit on the desk? Chair’s too short.”

“Okay,” Leia said. She sat on the desk. “This won’t take long, right? I have a – standing engagement for mid-day meal.”

“Oh, is that what they’re calling it now?” Amilyn quipped, winking and throwing her arm around her friend. Or – clearly not _friend_ , actually. Leia pursed her lips together, faintly amused.

“Not long at all,” Nik promised. “Trust me. I’m a pro at wartime haircuts, and the key to those is speed. Show me where you want it to, again?”

Leia indicated just above her shoulders with her hand. Amilyn raised her eyebrows.

“You’re really doing this?” she asked.

“It would appear that way.”

“I think it’ll look good. Classy,” Nik offered. “Anyway, nothing wrong with change. _You_ know that,” she said to Amilyn. Then, she positioned herself beside Leia. “Last chance to back out.”

“Go ahead,” Leia encouraged gently. Instinctively, she shut her eyes. When she felt air on the back of her neck, she opened them.

Later, she’d offer the following as explanations: it (meaning her hair) was tedious, it (meaning the cut) was convenient, it was impulsive, it was inevitable. Honestly, she didn’t really know why she’d done it at all. Or maybe she did know, but didn’t want to. It was just – something she did. Had done. Was done – so swiftly, in an instant, the ponytail was in Nik’s hands.

(“What do you want me to do with it?” she’d asked.

“Princess Leia’s hair,” Amilyn said, adopting an awestruck tone mostly as a joke. “I wonder what it’s worth.”

The idea of auctioning it off was sickening. “Whatever you normally do with it, but I’d prefer if you didn’t sell it.”

“I know a wigmaker on Coruscant…” Nik offered, frowning. “She does charity work, takes donations.”

“That’s fine,” Leia said. She liked the idea of it going to someone in need. It was amazing, looking at the length of it – how quickly it already didn’t feel like hers.)

She met Han at the Falcon for mid-day meal, as she liked to do when they were stationed together.

“Hello,” she said as she ascended the ramp.

Han cocked his head to side, squinted, then grinned broadly. “Hey!” he said, pointing at her mock-seriously. “What did you do?”

“Oh, this?” she asked, tugging at the bottom of the length with her fingers. “What do you think?”

“I like it,” he said immediately as he stepped closer to her, and she could tell by his stupid grin that he was being honest. Which – was honestly a surprise, she’d sort of assumed he’d be supportive but perhaps not terribly enthusiastic, if only because he did seem to have such a fondness for taking down her hair. “I _really_ like it.” Then he was behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. Kissing her neck once – it was easier for him to do that, now, she supposed. She wasn’t opposed to that at all.

She turned to face him. “What are you smiling about?”

“Just – you. Gettin’ a haircut.”

“Is that funny?”

“A little, yeah.” He ran his fingers through it, tugged the ends, grinned that ridiculous grin again.

“How’s that?”

“Just.” He sort of shrugged. “ _Normal_.”

“Interesting,” Leia said, tilting her head to the side, feeling the way the hair swished as she did so. _Normal, domicile, peacetime. Planet of residence._ “It doesn’t feel frivolous?”

He shrugged again. “You can do stuff for you. Matter of fact, you _should._ ”

“Well, I didn’t go to a _salon_.”

“So what if you did?”

“I don’t think we’re at that point yet. But, someday. Maybe even someday soon,” she allowed.

“Sure. Someday soon. Sleep past six, shop for your own underwear, get a short, sexy haircut at a _salon_ …”

“Oh, it’s sexy now, is it?”

 _Normal, domicile, peacetime._ She tried to imagine shopping for her own underwear. It felt spine-tinglingly close. It felt surreal.

“Oh, yeah,” he said, and he flashed her another grin. “Hundred percent.”

**Author's Note:**

> imagine getting a haircut... literally nothing would feel more normal than that.


End file.
